A Piece of Cake
by MartiOwlsten
Summary: You would be surprised what a little food color and frosting can create. Sarah makes a special cake every year, but this year she will end up with more than she expected. JxS Oneshot.


**Disclaimer: Not mine. Not even a little. Not that I care.**

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**A/N: Hello all, Marti here. About a week or two ago, Danika had been devious enough to give me a challenge that she knew I couldn't refuse. I was angry, I didn't want to do it, but it's like a dare – you have to. Write a fluffy, JxS one-shot, between one and 5,000 words.**

**I was agitated, I was grumpy, and I had to set it aside and ignore it several times. It got back at me by occupying my free time and giving me nice, large headaches. I pouted, I fussed… and, eventually, I sucked it up and wrote the blasted thing.**

**And so, here it is, the JxS that I never particularly thought I'd write. I hope it was worth the effort, and you all enjoy it.**

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**A Piece of Cake**

The oven was old, and so, if she wanted the cake to be flat when it baked, she had to shove a small, metal pipe, smaller than even her little finger, underneath the cake pan. Not exactly a problem, Sarah mused, but it was still one more thing to do with an old house.

It was a small house, but she didn't mind. It wasn't too far from where her parents lived, and from the area in which she grew up. A small home, vaguely Victorian in style, filled with a few pieces of hand-me-down furniture from her parents, a few other pieces she acquired at inexpensive stores when the paycheck allowed it. Not very elaborate, but it suited her fine. Sure, it had the closet door that sticks, the step on the stair that squeaked, the window that wouldn't quite open all the way, and the window panes that rattled whenever the front door opened, and the three kitchen tiles that for some reason puckered, and therefore popped when stepped upon… but none of these things were every really nuisance enough for Sarah to go to the trouble to have them repaired, or to repair them herself; they remained on a list of things to do on a wistful _someday_.

In the meantime, she still placed the pipe under the cake pan when baking.

Of course, the window and kitchen tiles, unlike the pipe, never rolled off the rack, scalding hot, to land on one of her bare feet.

Sarah screamed and nearly dropped her cake.

Quickly plopping the hot pan on the stove top, she half hopped and half ran to the bathroom, where she ran her foot under cool water in the bathtub. Five minutes and the gentle application of some burn cream from her medicine cabinet (that never shut completely on the first try), and she was back in the kitchen to properly care for her cake.

Sarah moved it from the stove to the cooling rack. She had used two round pans and one large square pan to bake in, this time. The two, round cakes were chocolate, and would be layered together to make the base for whatever she did. The square cake was white and was for chopping and shaping. Sitting in her refrigerator was a bowl of frosting, and on her counter she had her food colors, just waiting to be mixed to create whatever she desired.

While the cakes cooled, Sarah headed to the living room and sat down on the sofa (scooting over as she did so, to avoid the one spring that poked out), to look at her sketchbook, and decide what design she would do. Her sketches were nothing fancy and left much to be desired, really, but she had not drawn them to be works of art. She had drawn them so she would never forget all the details. She had been afraid to forget all those special things, all the things that had changed her and taught her.

Sitting cross-legged on the couch, she opened the book, flipping through the pages of her. There was a dwarf, fairies that bit, a worm, and so many other things… many of which she had already done (and taken pictures of, to accompany her sketches) in previous years.

Every year.

The first year, of course, had not been very fancy at all. She had not been much of a cake maker, then. A couple of gnarly banana muffins with a few raisins on top had given Sarah the initial idea of how to remember the year marks. Oh, sure, she was certain to remember the first year mark of running the Labyrinth, but what of the year after that? And ten years from then? Would she still remember her journey, and what she'd learned?

She had decided then, staring at the banana muffins that she and her stepmother had made, that she would mark each year with something. At the time, she had been uncertain what, and still was not quite sure how it had grown into cakes, but she had not forgotten a single year.

The first year, she had taken a tube of icing (much to her stepmother's dismay), toothpicks, and raisins to the banana muffins, and arranged them to look like a very lumpy dwarf.

_Hoggle_, she knew – though she had never told anyone that.

The second year, Sarah made a plain, rectangular cake. Initially, she had planned to make a simple cake, like an ordinary birthday cake, but after it had cooled, a wild hair struck her, and she chopped it into smaller, angular pieces before decorating. A long triangle for a tail, a square body, large triangle for a head, and a few points for ears. Arranging the pieces on a large cookie sheet, she had 'glued' them together with icing, then decorated her creation as best she could with the food coloring they had readily in the cupboard.

Oh, her family had said it was darling! A fox! Though, why Sarah had given it a blue eye patch (blue, for lack of the means to make black) was beyond any of them.

The third year, Sarah had taken several cake mixes (that she purchased herself, along with a decent set of food colors, with money from her summer job) and baked her cake in a large, oven safe, mixing bowl. Odd, her stepmother had thought, but said nothing.

She had turned the cake upside down, taken a few cupcakes and shaved them into points, then frosted the mound with orange frosting and covered it with toasted coconut. Adding large, frosting eyes and teeth, with the pointed cupcakes on top, Sarah had made a hysterically funny, fuzzy-looking orange monster with yellow horns. The rest of the cupcake batch had been slathered in purplish-gray frosting, and left surrounding the monster head, looking like lumpy rocks.

_Ludo_.

And so, every year since, she had found a way to create something from the Labyrinth. Hoggle, Didymus, and Ludo were followed by a fiery, a blue worm, a creature that resembled a playing card (with a head at each end and a shield in the middle), a goblin, a pool of water covered in little fairies with sugar wings, a face made of helping hands (oh, her college roommates had been highly disturbed by that one), a large metal robot of a sort, a bridge over a disgusting swirl of brown and green…

Sarah snickered as she examined the photo of her cake interpretation of the Bog of Eternal Stench. That one had been perversely fun to make, and even more fun to eat for the week or so that it had lasted.

But, the year after that, she had begun to be unsure of what was left for her to do. Perhaps, she had wondered at the time, she could do a better one for Hoggle. He deserved better than banana muffins and toothpicks.

But, she could not start over yet, not when she still had things she could do.

Two years back, she had bought a special new cake pan for making her first doll cake. It was a dome pan that made a cake in which a special doll (with a stem instead of legs) could be sat on top and decorated with frosting. She had used a paste-sort of frosting that year, like they do on wedding cakes, to make the dress and sleeves look fluid, then decorated it with pale sprinkles and tiny candies, even putting strands of silvery beads in the doll's dark hair. In the end, Sarah had not been able to eat much of that cake. It had been a bit too strange to see a cake of herself.

Last year, she had made a square base and an extra large square for chopping. After the large bit had been frozen, Sarah had literally chopped it to bits… square and rectangular pieces, to be exact. It had been a decorating _nightmare_, almost literally, but she had built steps and stairs that went in as many directions as she could manage, all over the base, doing her best to create the Escher room. It had been crazy, but strangely satisfying in the end, and had not tasted too bad, to boot.

But now… Sarah flipped through her sketches. She had really covered as many things as she had cared to, or could possibly created, with her cakes - except for one thing. There was one thing she had yet to make, one idea she had yet to attempt. And, now that she had gone as far as to make the Escher room, she had no excuses as to why she couldn't do it, other than the idea of making it also made her nervous.

Sarah closed her sketch book and headed back to the kitchen.

"What year is this getting to, anyway?" she asked out loud while placing the now cooled cakes into the freezer, for just a short while.

With a sigh, she sat herself down at the kitchen table, and counted off the years. Her three friends, plus the fiery, worm, the riddle guards, goblin, fairies, helping hands, gate guard, bog, herself, the Escher room…

This was the thirteenth year.

"No way…" she sighed, "Thirteen years? I guess that makes sense. I was fifteen, now I'm twenty eight," she winced and sighed, "Ah, no need to remind yourself of _that_, now."

So, rather than focusing on her age, or just the fact that one more year had gone by and she was still living alone, Sarah pulled out her set of food colors and her bowl of frosting, deciding on what colors she needed. She had several directions she could take this cake, and… well, if she was going to do it, she had to definitely do it right.

She ignored the shiver that ran down her spine and, reaching out practiced fingers, she removed the yellow from the box of colors.

_Hmm_, she thought. _Tempting. Very tempting… add some more sugar to the frosting to thicken it up, then dribble strands of yellow all over the cake, in different directions?_ She snickered, "No, that would be worse than the doll."

But, she would probably still need the yellow, as a primary color. She sat it aside. Next, she selected the blue, removing the small container from the box.

Sarah frowned. _I don't know about this. Blue coat with sparkles, blue eyes, blue streaks in blond hair…_

She sat the blue beside the yellow, and quickly moved her fingers on to red.

_Red… red… _she frowned, _red velvet, passing right on through me. Red was the color of cruelty and anger, passion and, romance…_ The red was quickly sat beside the blue, and she dug into her other colors.

After a good ten minutes, Sarah the conceptual image in her head. After examining all her colors, she had decided to take a more, well, _subtle_ route for this cake. It felt safer, that way.

There was soft pattering on the widow sill, above the sink in the kitchen. A soft smile tugged at her lips. _Fitting_, she mused. _Of all the days to rain…. _She took a quick moment to open the window, just a crack, and smell the rain. It always smelled so nice, so clean. A small flash of electricity outside drew her mind back to that night. She recalled seeing her baby brother in his crib, crying one moment, and then gone the next, followed by more lightning, menacing giggles, and frantic wings beating at the window, desperate to get inside._ I almost forgot…_

In the party store, the same year she had bought the doll for her cake, Sarah had come across a strange decoration and purchased it, in case she couldn't ever find it again, when she needed it.

Closing the window, she turned and moved to the cupboard where she kept all her baking tools and pans. Still in the package, still in the bag, stuffed in the back corner, lay her item. She pressed her lips together and snatched it up.

Almost two hours later, Sarah was putting the finishing touches on her creation. She had done the numbers by hand with yellow frosting, a frosting bag and her decorating tips. Hands were made by slicing long thin pieces of the square cake – these were also done in yellow. But, in the middle, standing tall, were spires, all brown, a few decorated with little designs here and there, even window ledges and doors and chains and gates and the like with the black and brown frosting. Around the edge of the cake she had placed square chunks almost resembling a haphazard, Greek-key pattern. These pieces were coated and decorated in a brick-like fashion with black and brown.

_Almost done_, she thought, looking at the bag on the counter. It felt almost heavy when Sarah unwrapped it. Two years was a long time of waiting, and her fingers trembled slightly as she removed the item from the package.

_Stop being silly_, she chided herself. _It's a cake decoration, nothing more…_

She unwrapped the white owl on a stick, made to look like it was soaring in the sky, and stuck in straight into the cake, at a slight angle, amid her spires.

"It's finished," she said, feeling very pleased.

The Castle Beyond the Goblin City, or as close to it as she could make in edible form, sat on top of the face of a clock with thirteen hours on it. The sides of the clock was the stone walls of the labyrinth itself, twisting and turning in all directions, with no real reason to it at all, and, of course, the owl, soaring over head.

"Jareth," she whispered, a shiver running down her spine.

A smile turned up the corners of her mouth as Sarah was suddenly struck by one of her wild hairs, and she made a dash for her the desk drawer in the other room. She returned a moment later carrying a black Sharpie in her fingers.

"Wait, wait," she said aloud, in a highly theatrical voice, "We still have one last thing to add to this years piece, before we can truly call it finished." She removed the cap on the marker and, bending over and moving her face very close to the cake, carefully added a swoop to the corner of each eye on the owl. "There!" she proclaimed, recapping her marker, and laughing to herself.

The rain came down harder outside. She allowed herself a good laugh over it all, slumping down in one of her kitchen chairs until a few tears had gathered at the corners of her eyes.

"Ah, I know, I'm being ridiculous," she said, wiping away her tears, "This is what I get for living alone. I'm laughing at stupid sharpie swoops on a plastic owl." She sobered, almost instantly and stared at the cake for a moment. A wave of sadness washed over her, but she did smile, and said, softly, "I almost wish he could see this. I'm sure he'd… nevermind. I'm not sure I'd want to know what the Goblin King would think of this."

Sarah headed up to her bedroom to get her camera, giggling again. She picked up her camera, which she spotted quickly by the flash of lightning from outside. Oh, yes, it was funny. It did not matter if she was the only one who thought so. She plodded back down the stairs, stopping briefly at the bottom when she startled herself by laughing so hard she snorted – which, as everyone knows, only serves to make a funny situation, even a mildly funny one, absolutely hilarious. Sarah reentered her kitchen in near hysterics, barely calming herself enough to hold up her camera and take a decent photograph of her cake.

After the flash, she looked at her camera, to see the picture on the display. She squinted at the screen. In her picture, the owl wasn't visible.

"What the heck…" she looked up at the cake, frowning. Sure enough, the owl, which had, swoops and all, been sticking out of the top of the cake only moments before, was gone.

And that was the moment in which Sarah froze and found herself overwhelmed by the feeling of another presence in her kitchen.

She knew perfectly well who it was. She may have been a fool for not guarding her own mouth better, on such an evening, but she was not completely stupid. _No, _her brain swirled, _No, I must be wrong. I have to be wrong. Please let me be wrong. _She turned slowly, so very slowly, to face…

There was a rumble of faint laughter. "Really, Sarah, was this truly necessary? There are far easier ways of gaining my attention."

Atop her kitchen counter sat the Goblin King, twirling her plastic owl between his gloved fingers.

There was a strangled sort of yell that escaped her throat as she clutched her camera to her chest tightly. Sarah attempted to back up and away from him, and the yell ended in a sharp squeak as she bumped into her stove top, and realized she had nowhere to go.

Her kitchen had never felt so small.

He was perched on her counter in his vest, breeches, and dark boots, wearing a red ruffled shirt. His hair, eyes and build all seemed exactly the same as she remembered…

Sarah was shaking from head to foot, and had no idea what to do. Her eyes flicked to her phone, which was on the wall, a few feet from her. But who do you call? Were it anyone else in her kitchen she could call the police, her father, someone… Not with the Goblin King. No one would believe her.

Her camera clattered to the table when he lightly hopped off the counter and approached her. Sarah scrambled to move and keep the kitchen table between them.

"Stay back," she blurted out.

Slowly, he smirked at her, "And whatever for, dearest Sarah?"

"What are you doing here?" she demanded, ignoring his question.

He paused in his pursuit and smiled, showing her his slightly pointed teeth. "You wished it."

She moved again as he began to circle the table slowly, rotating to keep as far from him as she could. "I did not, you liar."

"True, you did not _directly_ wish that I come… so let me explain, if you will," he cleared his throat and idly adjusted the cuffs on his sleeves as he continued to circle the table, "I deal in wishes and dreams. I do not hear every wish of every person, but you have already wished someone away, and, more importantly, won them back. You are, and always shall be, somewhat connected to my world. You never actually said the words, it wasn't an actual wish. _Wishing_ is a command, to which I am bound. _Almost_ wishing… well, that amounts to an invitation, and I readily accepted."

She was shaking still, but she managed to raise a hand and point it at him, "Consider it rescinded – get out, Goblin King."

He paused again and used the owl on a stick to motion towards her cake, "Party for one, then? That seems awfully dull. I could not, in good conscious, leave you to such monotony."

"Please," she said, her voice shaking, "I don't want any of your games."

He raised his eyebrows at her, "Games? I am insulted. I came for the party."

Sarah frowned, "This isn't a party."

"No?" he gave the cake a pointed look, "Your creation would suggest otherwise."

"I-" she paused and stammered over her words, trying to calm herself. "You… look… I…," she shook her head to clear it, grateful that he had, for the moment, ceased his movement, and she had a few seconds to collect her thoughts.

"You didn't answer my question," she said, at length, "I asked what you were doing here. Fine, I accidentally invited you – that doesn't explain why you accepted. What are you doing here, Goblin King?"

"Jareth."

"I beg your pardon?" she looked up at him, startled.

"I use your proper name," he said, flatly, "And yet you still refuse to use mine? Honestly, I was certain, given our history, we'd be beyond that. Please, call me Jareth."

Sarah straightened and frowned at him, "You're a king, you're royalty. I-" she hesitated, briefly, "I didn't know I was allowed to call you 'Jareth'."

He shrugged, lightly, "Old acquaintances need not be so formal. I have nothing against you calling my name," he grinned, wickedly, "I prefer it."

She shivered under his gaze. "Again, I'll ask, what are you doing here?"

He moved over and began to examine, of all things, her cake, as though it were suddenly the most interesting thing he had ever seen, "Oh, I have my reasons…"

Sarah jumped slightly, reaching out a hand to stop him before he prodded a castle spire with a gloved finger tip. "What… what would those reasons be?"

Still leaning over her cake, he looked up at her, "They would be mine, and I shall share them when I please. Am I upsetting you?"

Sarah swallowed, "Your… your hair…"

He stood and grinned, "You like it?"

"It was getting in the frosting."

He chuckled slightly and moved to sit in one of her kitchen chairs, almost as if he had not heard her – though, Sarah noted he wiped a hand over the tips of his long hair, all the same.

She watched him sit, inwardly frowning – at herself, mostly. Thirteen years… thirteen! She had hoped that, if she were to ever see him again, things might be different…

…but, no, they were most definitely not.

Thirteen years ago, she had run a test, and passed, but only just. She had been approaching adulthood, and, as far as she could tell, the test had been in using her child-like imagination to chose which path she would truly take as an adult – one of responsibility, in doing the right thing, or in succumbing to the vanity and lust of being a grown-up. At that age, he had tempted her more than she had ever admitted, but she had hoped that, after time, she would have gotten over that.

She watched him examine the owl again. He was still very handsome. Things hadn't changed much at all. Sarah swallowed hard.

"Would you like some cake?"

Both looked startled – Jareth, at her offer, and Sarah at having realized she had spoken the words aloud.

He blinked at her, "It seems a pity to ruin something you worked so hard to create."

Still shaking, she shrugged, "It's cake. Cake is meant to be eaten. It usually takes me a week to get rid of one of these, on my own, at least… you might as well have some."

He watched her and met her eyes, "Very well… you have my curiosity piqued."

Slowly, for she was not quite certain she could turn her back on him, she moved and retrieved two plates, forks and a knife from the cupboard and drawers. "Curiosity? What do you mean?"

He smiled at her, "I am wondering how similar _a piece of cake_ truly is to my Labyrinth."

"Huh? Oh," she blushed bright red as she moved the knife to slice a piece off and put in on a plate. "I… good heavens. That had to be the dumbest thing I've ever said… especially since it wasn't true."

She started to hand him the plate of cake with a fork on it, but he stood quickly and moved around, finally catching her off guard. Sarah backed away from him as quickly as she could, but he was too swift – in a matter of seconds, she was cornered with nothing to hide behind besides a plate, fork, and a piece of cake.

"Uh, no," she stuttered, helplessly, "You're… um, sit, please… your cake…"

He towered over her, and she gripped the plate tightly, feeling her heart hammering at his close proximity.

_Oh, gosh, he smells good_…

She shook her head and once again tried to press the cake forward, into his hands. He only pressed closer to her, seeming to ignore the cake completely. She was shaking, again, and watched with a strange mixture of fear and longing as he reached up a hand to toy with a strand of her long hair, the ends of his fingers brushing her neck as he did so. Sarah did her best to ignore the bumps that had rose on her arms , "Don't you want your cake?"

His other hand was before her vision as he plucked the fork from the plate (which she now realized had been clattering lightly against the glass). He smoothly cut off a small corner that he lifted to his own lips. He made a pleased noise in his throat and closed his eyes as he slowly pulled the fork from his lips.

"It is very good," he murmured in a low voice.

"Thank you," she managed.

"Now, Sarah," he said, softly, "Would you like a taste?"

"N-no, thank you," Sarah gripped the plate tighter, "I-I think I'll have my own slice…"

Jareth leaned down close to her ear, his hair tickling the exposed skin of her neck and collar bone. "I was not speaking of _cake_…"

Sarah gasped, but found herself unable to move as he quickly tilted her chin up with his hand and pressed his mouth to hers. She felt rather than saw him take the plate from her and discard it on the counter behind her, and even then she only really noticed it when her hands were suddenly free to wind up and tangle in the ruffles of his shirt as his arms pulled her closer.

Her lips followed after his with a small whimper of protest as he pulled back. She blinked dazedly up at him, stunned. "What… what was that for?" she breathed.

Jareth smirked down at her, "Thirteen years, Sarah. I said I came for the party, and I meant it."

"What _are_ you _talking_ about?" she asked, shaking her head, partly to try and understand him, and partly to get her mind to think about something other than his lips…

He dipped his head, locking eyes with her, "Thirteen years ago. You threw such a delightful little party, and I had not been invited. I have been waiting, all these years, for another invitation into your life."

She blinked, "Party? That… I didn't think you'd care to come. Why? Why were you wanting my invitation?"

The haughty face fell slightly, "I did not care for the party, but the invitation I would have claimed later, to let you know my offer would stand, at least until you were old enough to properly consider it."

"What offer?" Sarah asked, confused.

He smiled and began to toy with her hair again, "Fear me, _love me_, do as I say, and I will _be your slave_…"

Her breath hitched. "Love you?"

"Would that be such a terrible thing?"

She closed her eyes, thinking. She had thought on that phrase, his last words to her, more than she would ever admit. She had never thought to hear it said to her again… but had known what she would say in response, if she ever did. She took a deep breath.

"Love can't just be given, Jareth. It must be earned."

"Then allow me the _chance_ to earn it," he said earnestly, pulling her tightly against him, again. "I did not come to wisk you away, but to extend the offer again…" his nose drifted to her shoulder and he inhaled slowly, "And to see you once more."

"And here I thought you had come for a slice of cake in a small, rickety house," her voice trembled, but there was a faint smile on her face.

"That, too," he breathed before kissing her again.

Sarah lost herself in his kiss. His lips were so very warm and firm as they moved with hers. One of his hands caressed her back gently while the other cupped the back of her head and neck. Her own fingers tugged steadily along the ruffles of his shirt, inching their way up to his neck, where they eventually reveled in the feel of his skin and tangled in his soft hair. How long had she ached and dreamed of this? _Far too long_, she decided. _He loves me, and I_…

She pulled away, blushing horribly, and looked at him, this time his lips having followed after hers.

"Could you do that? Could you be that patient?"

He bobbed forward a bit, as if he were going to kiss her again, as if he desperately wanted to kiss her again, but then released her and took a slow step back. A regal mask was once again on his face. "I assume, then, that I have your invitation? I am welcomed?"

Sarah nodded. He stepped to her and took her hand, raising it to his lips, gently. "I have waited thirteen years, my dearest Sarah. I can easily wait a while longer."

She gave him a dubious look, "I don't know… you seem like the impatient type, to me."

He gave her a devious grin, "It'll be a piece of cake."

_Fin._

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**A/N: As you might have guessed, I am not too terribly pleased with this… so do have mercy on me, and leave me nice reviews to make me feel better about it.**

**And, if you don't like it, do go harass Danika, because it's her fault I even wrote this. Fans of my big fic, _The Goblin King and I_, can probably understand why. **

**You can also thank her, for she helped me think of the title for this, which, unlike the story, I totally adore, and was kind/cruel enough to be my beta on this. **

**Oh, and while I'm at it here, if you liked the fluff and stuff in this, do go read my GK&I fic. Yes, it's not a JxS, but it's a load of fun. Even devout JxS shippers have conceded that they like it, and have become regular reviewers! If you haven't given it a chance, please do. The first chapters are rocky and bumpy, but it gets better as it goes…**

**Until next,**

**Much love,**

**Marti**


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